The Merchants
by Lawrence The Shark
Summary: The games have both ended, and the two merchants find that they have little purpose, but at least they have each other. GamZach because wow have you thought of this ship yet? It's awesome. Rated T for now, may or may not move to M later.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N Well. it's finally happened. Crackshipping. I have never had a legitimate crackship before, but now I do, and it is glorious.**

**GamZach.**

**Gamzee Makara from Homestuck and Zacharie from OFF (a video game i highly recommend you playing).**

**So before you read this, make sure you've either played the game or are okay with pretending he's an OC.**

**Alright, well...here we go.**

**As always, Gamzee Makara belongs to Andrew Hussie, and Zacharie belongs to MortisGhost.**

* * *

You open your eyes, straining more against the crushing silence than against the somewhat familiar but more absolute blackness of the space around you. There is nothing, not single beam of light at first. You wonder if there's anyone else, or if it's just you, the one who has been killed several times over and still has not died.

You look around. You're sitting on some surface that is not there. You ought to be used to things like this happening in Paradox Space, but you didn't think that this was how things would end. The game was supposed to create a new world. After the last one, you figured things would be similar. This time, though…it's only you. You are alone in a vast and empty wasteland. It isn't what you wanted. It isn't what you hoped for, if anyone can assume you've got any hope left.

There is a small upside, though. You can't hear the messiahs anymore. Your head is foggy, but it's foggy with the noises of your own thoughts, things you never thought about before, ideas you never had, new kinds of miracles. You don't know why you ever liked having such a clear head. One could go insane that way, nothing to keep busy with.

Suddenly, though, you realize that you don't feel trapped anymore. You're out in the open and you don't have to worry about quadrants or denizens or masters. You can run and run and run and nobody will stop you. You can jump around and kick and pretend you're flying over massive towns because, well, you can't see the ground, so who's to tell you you're not?

And you do just exactly that. You whoop and holler and jump and spin and run, your own circus act in the muffled expanse of nothingness. You scream into the darkness and if your friends are out there they'll call you a lunatic when they find you, because if they're there, they will find you.

Soon, though, your voice hurts and your head is pounding and your lungs need a rest. You figure you can't sit back down. It won't do any good anyway, you're too wound up. So you settle for walking.

On your walk, you notice some things. Like, you can see your hands and the rest of yourself, but there is no light anywhere. Have you become a rainbowdrinker like good old Maryam? Maybe it's some sort of chemical process or some shit, your biochemistry reacting with whatever's in the atmosphere. Is there even an atmosphere? Well, you're breathing, and you're walking on a solid surface, so you guess there must be. Or maybe it's the sopor. Maybe that shit you slept in (and ate) all the first six sweeps of your life was prepping you for this kind of thing. Maybe it's an adjustment in your eyes?

You growl and rub your forehead; all this thinking makes you angry, and getting angry where there's nothing to hit is a very bad idea.

You have no idea how long you walk—hell, you still don't know if this is a dream bubble malfunctioning or if you're actually in the middle of space—but eventually you see something up ahead. It's a white dot, surrounded by what looks like several small patches of dark vegetation. No, not small, you realize as you get closer, and not vegetation, either. Transportalizer pads. And the white dot isn't one, but two beings. One appears to be what those kids you all babysat called a cat, and the other, a…human? You guess so, because he certainly isn't a troll. He's got papery-white skin, though, and he's wearing a mask that also looks like a cat, so you aren't really sure.

You don't stop, just continue walking until you're about a foot from the edge of the first transportalizer. Seconds before you stop, though, the cat is beamed away and the masked one turns to look at you. That's when you stop, and you don't say anything first because after he turns, he's still. He doesn't move a single muscle; he seems sort of like a near-broken animatronics project, cold and distant and jerky in that one tiny movement to face you.

After a bit of staring, looking over this creature to see it maybe you knew him, your face breaks into a tired smile. He suddenly shifts and turns the rest of the way to fully face you, life springing to his features as he greets you with a lighthearted "Buenos dias, amigo!"


	2. Chapter 2

His name is foreign. Zacharie. No last name, just Zacharie. You don't shake hands with each other, he just stands, staring with the blank voids where you figure his eyes are somewhere behind that cat mask. What is he waiting for?

"Shit, sorry, motherfucker. Name's Gamzee. Makara."

A low chuckle shakes his shoulders. "You're a troll," he says. It isn't a question, it's a matter-of-fact-statement. Of course you're a troll. What else would you be?

"Haven't seen too many trolls around lately." Zacharie walks closer to you and gets real close up in your face. You don't really know what he's doing, but in a moment he pulls away, nodding slowly. "Full grown. And a highblood. Yes, I know a thing or two about trolls and troll culture. Can't spend your life in a video game and not know some things about other video games. Though, how you got out of yours, I'm not really sure I can say. Not with any amount of certainty, that is."

You blink at him with a confused look on your face. Video game? Well, sure, SGRUB was a video game, and you did play it with your friends, but you weren't a video game character, not in the slightest. "Back the truck up, motherfucker," you say, furrowing your eyebrows in thought and holding up your hands. "What the fuck are you up and tellin me, brother? Bein all up out here in paradox motherfuckin space must be doin weird-ass shit to my think pan 'cause I ain't up and getting my understand on."

Zacharie looks at you. You don't know what look he has on his face back behind that mask, but you know he's looking at you. "Maybe we should take a seat, amigo," he sighs. His shoulders slump and he looks towards the ground for a split second before he bends to the side, sits, and crosses his legs. When you don't imitate his actions right away he pats the void-ground beside him. You guess that his face is expectant, so you sit.

"What exactly do you not understand?"

You snort. "Not a fuckin thing. You got a funny name and you're up and chillin here tellin me you got a gig bein a…merchant…in some other kinda fuckin game? You got your think pan backwards brother, you need some doctorin help or some shit?"

He lets out a deep chuckle. You see his shoulders shake a little under his huge white sweater. You don't get what's so funny, but you keep your mouth shut so he can tell you. "No, I just sell things. I sell things that the hero in my video game needs. Well, he isn't really a hero, but he thinks he is. Stronger weapons, secret items, things he needs to stay alive and healthy, power ups, that sort of thing. Didn't you have anyone like that in your game?"

You're trying so hard to piece together what he's saying to you, but some things just don't make any sense. "I guess we sort of did?" you say questioningly. "I remember bein the motherfucker that was up and tryina sell some shit to a little human sister in blue."

"Ah," he exclaims, "so YOU were the merchant in your game. How lucky!"

"I still don't got any fuckin clue what this shit about bein a motherfuckin video game character means," you growl to him. "I ain't a character, I'm a real fuckin flesh-and-blood guy, and that SGRUB game was all kindsa wicked crazy. Wasn't even a fuckin video game."

Suddenly, that Zacharie guy has a grip on your hand and he's pressing it to his chest. You can feel his blood pusher and you can feel the squishiness of human skin beneath the plush sweater. "I'm a real flesh-and-blood guy, too, Gamzee. But to the eyes of the Puppetmaster I'm just pixels on a screen."

"SGRUB ain't got a puppetmaster," you snort.

"Ah, but every game has a puppetmaster!" he chuckles. "You served someone in that game of yours. Someone pulled your strings."

You think a minute, staring at Zacharie's masked face. Then, slowly, you remember. "I…helped out some little green dude. Raised that motherfucker from birth, him and his sister. Little fucker turned out to be a motherfuckin evil brother, killed the lady, killed the session, flew solo. I up and helped the little shit wherever I fuckin could."

Zacharie shook his head. "I suppose that's probably similar, but no, that's not what I was talking about. But it doesn't really matter. Why don't you tell me how you got here."

Unfortunately for him, and for you, you don't really remember.


End file.
